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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24806335">don't leave me wondering</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiuliaMed/pseuds/GiuliaMed'>GiuliaMed</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SKAM (Italy)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Conversations, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Missing Scene, POV Martino, food as a love language</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:55:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,880</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24806335</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiuliaMed/pseuds/GiuliaMed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Why did you leave then?” It’s breathless, a little desperate, a glimpse into their fight over three weeks ago.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p>The day after Martino’s birthday there’s only one thing on their to–do list: learning that even when the words aren’t perfect, they need to be said.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Niccolò Fares/Martino Rametta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>109</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>don't leave me wondering</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Martino is lying on his back, the thin duvet pulled down so it barely covers his hips.  </p><p>It must be around noon. The air in the room is warm from the sun shining through the windows, already high in the sky, illuminating the entire room, as if to encourage him. </p><p>He has been awake for a while now, watched the sunbeams move across the wall, but with no real incentive to move. Even though he’s on the verge of losing the feeling in his arm completely, blood circulation cut off by Nico’s head, facing away.</p><p>He’s ignoring the ever-increasing numbness, a countdown to the moment when he has to let go. Nature’s cruel way of reminding him that holding someone has an expiration date. </p><p>Marti sighs. It was too easy to get lost in excitement and laughs and impromptu sing-alongs last night, pushing away all worries for the next day.</p><p>His muscles feel tired, drained from creating new memories. As if they know they need longer than a few hours to process everything that's happened in the past weeks. As if his body is adapting too. </p><p>On the nightstand, Marti’s phone lights up. He reaches for it, reads a new message from Elia.</p><p>He answers with a thumbs up and puts the phone back, almost knocking over the small wooden-framed picture. It’s from last year, taken on the beach, late July, nothing but heat. Just two silhouettes walking towards the water, almost too dark against the sunset to recognize it’s them.</p><p>Now that he has spent mornings where it isn’t the first thing he sees while turning off the alarm, Marti doesn’t find it too cheesy anymore.</p><p>The numbness increases, and he tries to wiggle his fingers, unsuccessfully.</p><p>“Ni”, he whispers. Softly, almost like he’s scared to break the silence, trying to speak to Nico’s subconscious instead of waking him up. No motion, just the slow rise and fall of his shoulders. “My arm.” </p><p>Without making a sound Nico turns around to cuddle up against him, releasing Marti’s arm, where ants are making their way beneath his skin now, elbow to fingertips.</p><p>Marti wonders how long he's been awake. </p><p>Or half-asleep, apparently the state Nico is chasing now, body free of any tension, warm breaths seeping through Marti’s t-shirt and tickling his skin. </p><p>His phone lights up again, but he doesn’t care.</p><p>He lets his fingers graze over Nico’s back, featherlight touches that make Nico hum blissfully. It’s soothing, he can feel the echo against his chest. It’s not a movement he has to think about, but an instinct, and he’s been trying <i>not</i> to think all morning. </p><p>About what to say, where to start explaining, how to ask.</p><p>Instead he says into the stillness of the room:</p><p>“I heard in some countries it’s a tradition that the birthday kid doesn’t have to do any chores around the house for a whole week.”</p><p>Nico chuckles. “You heard, huh?” His voice is low and raspy from sleep.</p><p>“Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I remember watching this documentary about the importance of—” </p><p>Two fingers press into the place on his ribs where he’s ticklish, make him push out a breath in surprise. Marti tries to slap his hand away but Nico doesn’t stop until Marti is feeling his heart hammering way too hard for a sleepy morning and Nico is sitting up, grinning at him with sparkling eyes, the most innocent and simultaneously challenging “What?” on his lips.</p><p>Marti shakes his head with a contemplative look towards the ceiling, but doesn’t answer. He can feel Nico’s eyes on him for a long minute.</p><p>“What?” Nico asks again, this time with meaning behind it.</p><p>“Just wondering if my present is still valid today.”</p><p>Nico doesn’t answer immediately. “You can just ask me what you want to know.” There’s no bitterness in his words, but a hint of sadness.</p><p>Because Marti has been asking. The question doesn’t form on his lips, but the longer Marti stays silent, the more Nico looks like he wants to take the words back. He pushes off the bed and steps through the door into the living room.</p><p>It drags up two week old scenes from the very back of his mind, unfinished sentences and tears and talks that ended on ‘let’s talk about the details later.’</p><p>Marti sits up against the headboard. From this angle, he can see a corner of the other room, all kinds of clutter laying around, a result of Marti’s friends feeling a little too at home here. He almost thinks he scared Nico away, but the footsteps are returning and before the fear manifests itself, Nico is back by the bed.</p><p>He’s holding two plates under Martino’s nose. “Strawberry or chocolate?”</p><p>“What's this?”</p><p>“Breakfast in bed.”</p><p>“Cake?”</p><p>Nico smiles. “Mhm.” </p><p>After a moment of consideration Marti takes the chocolate cake, takes the apology, takes the peace offering.</p><p>Nico keeps the other one. He doesn't know what exactly it is about the gesture that makes him ponder while watching Nico set his plate on Marti’s shins, sit cross-legged by his side, and dig his fork into his ‘breakfast’.</p><p>It reminds him of all the times a plate appeared on the edge of the desk where Marti almost knocked it over with his elbow, too stressed to notice its arrival between the focused flipping of pages. He knows that means <i>take a break</i>. It reminds him of all the times he set a plate on the nightstand, peeking at it through the corner of his eye every time he entered the room, and often, by the third time, Nico would be sitting on the bed with tired eyes, out of his cocoon, and nibbling at the food. He knows that means <i>You are safe here</i> and <i>I’m thinking about you</i>.</p><p>Maybe the cake means <i>‘You choose, and I’ll accept.’</i></p><p>Marti dips the tips of his fork into the icing. His thoughts are still as confusing as they were yesterday, and there’s only one way to clear them up. But doesn't know where to start. </p><p>“Where did you buy these?”</p><p>Nico looks up, mouth full, with a deadpan expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I baked them.”</p><p>Marti scoffs. “Nice try.”</p><p>Nico swallows and laughs. “Hey, I could have!”</p><p>“Not in a million years.”</p><p>Nico purses his lips, contemplating if he wants to disagree further. “This one,” he points to Marti’s plate, “is from our <i>friend</i> on the second floor.”</p><p>By friend he means the old lady with a never-ending need to talk, who was friends with Nico’s grandma and sees them as replacements for her now. It has its benefits, though. She never complains about the noise, or them coming home late at night, or too many feet walking around the squeaky floor of their small apartment on the weekends.</p><p>Nico goes on cheerfully. “Gio said she rang the bell before we came home. Apparently they all panicked and yelled ‘surprise!’ at her while opening the door. ”</p><p>That draws a laugh out of Marti. “How did she know?”</p><p>“I might have mentioned it when I talked to her last week.” Nico grins, then continues chewing like he’s trying to catalog the flavors in his mouth.</p><p>“Elia asked if we could find his wallet and bring it to Sana’s.”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>With every bite Marti takes he scraps another possible beginning to a question that’s bugging him. <i>Just ask me what you want to know</i> echoes in his mind. </p><p>Marti tries again. “Sana… She didn’t tell me anything, you know?”</p><p>“About what?” Nico waits, observant eyes trying to predict his words.</p><p>“About you. Or what happened.” </p><p>Nico is silent. The slight upward tilt of his mouth signals he wants to be casual about this, but his forehead creases with worry.</p><p>“I don't care about Luai. Not really.” Marti’s voice is steady, resolute.</p><p>Nico furrows his brows. </p><p>“I mean your thing with him,” he clarifies. Even though the first statement isn’t a complete lie.</p><p>“Not the impression I got.” Nico tries to keep it light with a smile, innocent around the corners, the smile that starts silly and then slowly dies down. Marti feels a sting of remorse at the memory. How to explain himself?</p><p>Maybe the cake means <i>I’ll take whatever you give me</i>. So Marti has to give.</p><p>“I asked Sana and she didn’t tell me anything. And I respect her for that. But it seemed like everyone knew this secret. And I was the only one who was left alone in the dark about it.” Marti tries to keep his voice even, without accusations. </p><p>“I knew something was up.” He shrugs. Nico doesn’t take his eyes off him, but there’s a hint of caution, subtle, but there. Marti gives half a smile, tries to soften the unease. “You're not a very good liar.”</p><p>Nico wasn't fooling either of them with his ‘not lie’. Most of the time Marti can read him like a book that falls open at the most used page and see Nico’s words for what they are: a deflection of a dilemma Marti can’t comprehend.</p><p>And now that Marti started talking he can’t stop. As if his tongue was just waiting for the truth to sneak out. “I was so pissed at everything, and I didn’t even allow myself to consider all the options." As he’s talking, even his own ears recognize snippets of Gio’s reasoning mixed into his explanation. Judgement he had to undergo for days. </p><p>Marti takes a breath, searching for his own words now. They become rawer, fewer emotions filtered out. “I jumped to the worst possible conclusion, because suddenly there was someone else. Another person I had to measure up against.” Someone nobody wanted to talk to him about. In his mind he was being compared to a memory. An idea.</p><p>“Marti, that’s not—” Nico shakes his head, twice, eyebrows all the way up. He tucks his legs in closer, shrinks like he’s bracing himself for what could come out of this. </p><p>The fork clinks against the plate, even with Nico putting it down carefully. </p><p>His eyes are distant, as if he’s reliving the scene. “I didn’t know how to tell you. It was a mess and...” Nico stops, and it’s concerning how much Marti hangs on the cut off words. Nico lowers his gaze to the floor and his voice is thick with feeling. “I’m not good at figuring things out quickly.”</p><p>None of the words sound rehearsed, they’re plucked from his stream of thoughts and carry an immense amount of meaning. Marti wants nothing more than to ease the burden, hopes he’s not forcing Nico into a corner. Because this isn’t about adding more salt to the fresh wound. Talking like this is the opposite of being blindsided by jealousy. Or worry.</p><p>Nico struggles for words. “With you things are… easier.” Marti searches his face for hints of what Nico is trying to say. And he listens, truly listens to the waver of his voice, the silence between words, the hidden meanings he sometimes still gets wrong.</p><p>“Everything other people wreck their brains about, with us it's easier.” Nico rests his hands on his knees, palms up. A silent surrender. Marti didn’t mean for it to get so serious this quickly. He wants to hug him. “But I didn’t know how to say it so I said nothing. Because usually you let these things go,” Nico finishes.</p><p>Maybe the cake means <i>I’m sorry for hurting you</i>.</p><p>Marti hangs his head. Because no matter how confusing it was, he didn't give Nico enough time. Suddenly, he feels like he broke a promise.</p><p>He tries to keep his voice gentle. “I don’t keep track of them because they are not important.” This was.</p><p>Nico swallows, fidgets with his fingers. “There was a time when I felt like I ruined him,” he says with an intensity that almost makes Marti flinch. He sees the residual blame in the tightness of Nico’s mouth, in the restlessness of his eyes. “It all came back at once. I just thought, I’ll deal with the explanation later, until, you know…” Until Marti walked out. </p><p>And what Marti has been asking himself all morning is suddenly clear even without Nico saying it. Because when Nico didn’t tell him even after he walked out, his mind skipped over the obvious conclusions and jumped straight to priority lists that were out of order and all wrong, the importance of Marti knowing the truth somewhere at the bottom, even after the backward idea of him leaving, the last straw.</p><p>(Even after that, when they were apart, but found themselves in the same space, forced by their friends that were too close to choose a side, and gave them nowhere to go. Almost a silent standoff. Who will give in first? Who loves the other one more?)</p><p>But with every trace of shame on Nico’s face his view starts to shift. Hasn’t Martino done exactly that once, a long time ago? It was a different kind of impulse, came from a different place of hurt. But still. Neck-deep in embarrassment, he pushed and pushed until the the people closest to him were as far away from the truth as possible. Then he was paralyzed by guilt. Blamed it on his mere existence. Guilt-tripped himself into inaction.</p><p>“I fucked up. I’m sorry,” Marti finally answers.</p><p>Nico turns his eyes back at him and nods. Now that Marti sees the invisible handcuffs of remorse around his wrists, he’s relieved Nico doesn’t say something akin to ‘Sorry for being me’.</p><p>“I know what it's like to be paranoid, but not everything needs to be doubted, Marti,” Nico says, half assuring, half pleading.</p><p>“You’re right,” Marti says quietly. That could have prevented a lot of unnecessary hurt feelings.</p><p>“I just want you to believe me.”</p><p>“About what you said yesterday? I do be—”</p><p>“Not that.” Nico looks around, searching for a way to express himself. “I’m sure about this. About you. Us.” </p><p>It makes Marti blink in surprise, the change of topic.</p><p>“And I’ve been from the beginning. As I said, I just need time to deal with everything else. Do you understand that?” Nico is deliberate, careful. Makes sure Marti is listening to the intent behind the words, makes sure he knows this is important.</p><p>Marti nods and reaches for Nico’s clasped hands, loosens the tight grip and lightly pulls one to his mouth, presses a gentle kiss to the back of it. “Okay.” It feels like he’s renewing a promise.</p><p>“Okay.” One last affirmative look and the concern is vanishing from Nico’s face. “I hate fighting with you,” he admits and then he’s smiling a tiny smile, looking like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. Marti didn't realize how much he was carrying.</p><p>It hasn’t been long since Silvia’s birthday, but the nature of their connection doesn’t feel breakable and he doesn’t know why he assumed it would, like it was built on new delicate grounds instead of a foundation that is over a year old, and has been mended with love many times.</p><p>“Same.” Marti watches him, grin turning cheeky. “So, you’ve always been sure?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Nico says without even thinking about it. He pushes his chest out, straightens up as if to defend his statement.</p><p>Marti thinks. “What about when you met my dad?” </p><p>“I’ve seen worse.” Nico presses his lips together, his confidence falls for only a moment, but he holds his gaze. Marti kisses the same spot on his hand again, then his knuckles. It gets a fond smile out of Nico and they go back to eating the forgotten breakfast.</p><p>“What about that time you got food poisoning because of my sandwich?” Marti points with his index finger, making Nico laugh. “Or the fart spray prank?”  </p><p>“You said that was Luchino’s idea.” </p><p>“Well, it’s difficult to say where <i>ideas</i> come from...” </p><p>“Unbelievable.”</p><p>He is breathing easier again. The air in the room is not tense at all, nothing like the ways he imagined this conversation going. A little confusing and full of insecurities, but that’s what makes it feel real. Makes it feel honest.</p><p>“Do you remember when we were in Milan?” Marti isn't backing out today. He doesn’t want to poke the hornet's nest of issues, he wants to take it down and sink it in the river.</p><p>“Is that a trick question?” Nico asks, an unsure smile around his lips.</p><p>“I don’t mean it like that. It’s just… that weekend I admitted everything to my mom.” Marti laughs at his word choice. “That I wasn't really at Gio’s lake house. I even told her I wasn't with Gio the day after Halloween. Spilled my guts to her. About us breaking up.” He doesn't remember many specifics about that tearful weekend with her, most of it a blur by now. </p><p>Nico looks like he’s trying to remember too, biting his lip with a small smile, and it’s the first time Marti takes in his unpolished morning look, messy curls sticking out in all directions, and that detail is somehow enough to take off the pressure completely. </p><p>Marti continues with ease. The roles they took on don't feel too tight anymore.</p><p>“We fought about dad. She started talking about him, about how the thing between them didn't work out because no one in the relationship <i>tried.</i>” Marti knows the blame falls heavily on one party, but that isn't the point of the story. “From the moment the issues began, they were doomed, she said. Because they never tried to understand each other.”</p><p>Nico takes a moment to consider. “Was she the one who convinced you to come to me?”</p><p>“No. I wasn't in the mood to follow anyone's advice that day. She just told that story.” She probably wanted to connect with him, give back. (One of the methods he learned from her, even if it took a while.) In her own way she thanked Marti for opening up. For finally using some of that courage everyone demanded from him. “I didn't even remember that until a few days ago.”</p><p>“Wise woman.” </p><p>“I think I finally get what she meant,” Marti finishes.</p><p>Nico looks at him nonchalantly, his face already a little tan from the sun, eyes trailing down Marti’s features for a second. “It’s ironic, because you're the one who understands me the most.” He brings it back to them with a force of truth that hits Marti more than anything they shared today.</p><p>Sure, he’s aware why he is telling the story, but Nico’s genuine statement forms a lump in his throat quicker than he can blink.</p><p>He swallows around it, and can’t answer anything else than what he thought the second they left Silvia's apartment, on their way home. “That’s good, because I’d rather deal with everything <i>with</i> you. No matter how complicated it gets.” He also says it because his actions spoke a different language.</p><p>“Why did you leave then?” It’s breathless, a little desperate, a glimpse into their fight over three weeks ago.</p><p>The weight of that one question punches all air out of Marti in one swift motion, the way he can physically see it pour out of Nico, and he feels the heavy wave of regret hit him again, knows it will haunt him.</p><p>Maybe the cake means <i>I’m not easy to be around, so I’m trying to make it more bearable’</i>.</p><p>Of the two of them, Marti definitely got the better end of their miserable deal, no matter how horrible he felt afterwards.</p><p>“I just couldn’t deal with you choosing someone else over me.” It’s not a confession but it feels like one, originates from the same place of doubt, urgent and sincere; a request for forgiveness. “So I didn't give you the choice. Does that make sense?”</p><p>Nico stares at him for what feels like an eternity before he eventually speaks. “No.” An apologetic smile spreads across his face. “But I get it. That’s like, chapter one in Nico’s logic handbook.”</p><p>Marti shrugs. “I could use a handbook for all of this.”</p><p>“Don’t worry, you’re very wise today.”</p><p>“That’s normally your job.”</p><p>“It comes with age.” </p><p>“And you’re the expert on <i>that.</i>”</p><p>“Since we're telling stories,” Nico starts, licking his lips and carefully choosing his phrasing. “Once there was someone who taught me something about — and I don't remember the exact wording.” Nico narrows his eyes as if he’s thinking hard, rolls his wrist, hand in the air, with a mocking voice that shows he’s twisting his words deliberately, “Something about how the greatest happiness is the effort you make, not the victory.”</p><p>Marti rolls his eyes to the ceiling.</p><p>It’s a distant memory of days spent in his old bedroom, of catching Nico looking at the corner from time to time. <i>Joy lies in the fight, in the attempt, in the suffering involved, not in the victory itself.</i></p><p>He pretends to play along. “Who taught you that? Was it — I don’t know — by any chance someone famous?”</p><p>“Nope.” Nico smiles, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “Sure, Gandhi said it, but you showed me.” </p><p>And Marti really doesn’t know how he expected to have a delicate conversation without Nico turning it around and saying things that make Marti want to kiss him senseless. Or cry.</p><p>His throat is too tight to say anything, so he just reaches out to grab Nico’s forearm and pulls him in closer. He’s pretty sure he knocks over the plates as he pushes off the headboard and tries to disentangle himself from the duvet, and Nico definitely knocks them over when he half-climbs into his lap, but he can’t bring himself to care.</p><p>Gentle fingers find their place on soft cheeks and hands go around necks, and Nico’s smile is sweeter than the aftertaste of birthday cake on their lips, and all he can do is keep kissing him, because undoubtedly, he already has all the good things in this world, and hopefully Nico can feel it too, feel it all the way down to his bones, because Nico is clearly so much better with words and Marti wishes he could find pretty words to say that this is worth all the struggle. </p><p>They kiss without impatience or uncertainty or doubts, only familiar lips reuniting, making new promises.</p><p>At some point, Marti stops wishing for those magic words that would fix all problems at once. They’re going slow, with clumsy steps, but he’s certain they’ll get there.</p><p>Marti gets so lost in the moment his fingers land in something wet and sticky and he has to pull away. His nose wrinkles a little as he looks around and Nico bursts out laughing at all the mess they made: the bed is covered in a mixture of cream and cake crumbs.</p><p>Marti removes his hand from the pillow. The bedding looks like it needs to be washed as soon as possible. “Remember what I said about birthday kids and chores?”</p><p>“Forget it.” Nico laughs, dabbing his finger into the same spot, then smearing the tip of Marti’s nose, and leaning back to observe his artwork.</p><p>Maybe, Marti concludes, the cake just means <i>I love you</i>, and all the other stuff they have to figure out together.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>can’t believe they dropped s4 on us just like that and now we’re writing dissertations on it.<br/>thank you for reading 🧡 tell me what you think in a comment or talk to me <a href="https://annefraid.tumblr.com/post/621366716710125568/dont-leave-me-wondering-skam-italy-archive">on tumblr!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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